Obscura Page 5

  “The second quantum computer interprets the information sent from its counterpart. That much data transmitted along a farther distance than the few feet separating the two chambers in the video would result in an obvious delay. But either way, the information is the exact composition of a human body, and using the same photon net, the second computer rearranges all the necessary elements into order.” Carson ticked off his fingers. “Oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, phosphorus . . . you get the idea.”

  She did. But comprehending said idea (not to mention what she’d seen with her own eyes) was like placing an ocean in a thimble: it wouldn’t fit, the notion overflowing each time she tried. “How do you know this isn’t a hoax? The video could’ve easily been faked. There’s any number of other explanations for this.”

  “Gillian.” Carson’s voice lowered an octave. “The man in the video is Dr. Ander. I watched him perform the experiment in person. It’s real. Trust me.”

  She shook her head. “Okay, for the sake of argument, let’s say I believe you. What does any of this have to do with me?”

  Carson’s face darkened, the excitement dimming. “I’ll let Greg walk you through the specifics.”

  “I’ve asked you not to call me that,” Tinsel said before shifting his attention to her. “Do you recall several NASA launches over the past six years?”

  “Was it something to do with the space station?”

  “Yes, but not the old beast that’s been up there for decades. A new, fully updated version with the very latest technology, funded by the United Nations. It was launched in portions and assembled before being put into . . . orbit, one of the central reasons being the video you just watched. Undoubtedly the breakthrough Ander made will eventually have applications in space such as interstellar travel, and since a portion of his grants came from NASA, we chose to utilize the new station for trials and research away from prying eyes, so to speak.” Tinsel licked his colorless lips. “Since the tests began, though, there have been . . . complications.”

  “Complications?”

  “This project was originally designed to transport materials, but from the moment we realized we could teleport complex things, its application to human travel became a priority. Recently subjects participating in the trials have reported disorientation, slight memory loss, and bouts of irritation among a few other complaints.”

  “Losian’s,” Gillian said, shooting a glance at Carson.

  “Obviously we don’t know for sure, and we have no idea if the technology is the cause or if there is another factor at play. The earliest trial subjects haven’t reported anything unusual.” Tinsel leaned forward. “It very well could be the disease, but billions of dollars and years of research are at stake here, so we need to be sure. It’s my job to evaluate whether this whole thing continues to move forward or is shut down and brought back to Earth for further study.” He examined her, and at that moment, he could’ve been any number of male colleagues at a neurological seminar where she was presenting. Disdainful. Dismissive. “Honestly, Dr. Ryan, I’m doubtful you’ll be able to shed any further light on what’s happening. We’ve already had the best minds working on this without a single solid answer.”

  She bristled. “Then why exactly am I sitting here listening to you?”

  “Because Mr. LeCroix has complete faith in your work.” The rise of his eyebrows completed the rest of his thought: I, however, do not.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Carson said, motioning in Tinsel’s direction. “Like you said, we have no idea what the causes are, and that’s where you come in, Gillian. You’re the leading mind concerning Losian’s. We want you to examine everyone and see if you can explain what and why it’s happening. Anything you need would be provided.”

  She tamped down her anger. “Why do we have to go up there? Haven’t they been brought back to Earth?”

  She watched Carson and Tinsel share a look, quick and furtive, before Carson said, “The work they’re doing is vitally important, and it’s complicated. Bringing everyone back would destroy years of planning and billions of dollars in investment across many countries. The issues, whatever the cause, aren’t stopping the objective. So we go to them.”

  “I could oversee testing and do full-time consulting from here. You could send someone else, another radiologist who’s just as qualified.”

  Carson shook his head. “There’s no one utilizing the same approaches you are, and besides that we need someone there who can interpret the data in real time and help make decisions.”

  “But for six months? Why so long?”

  “We’re allowing for hang-ups and roadblocks. All the typical tests like CT scans and MRIs have shown nothing, so we’re anticipating a solution will take some time. Trust me, we’ve tried solving the problems with every source we have already. We need you.”

  The sun seemed to brighten outside, and a strange weakness invaded her limbs. Was she really considering this? Leaving Carrie for six months? The thought of not being able to hug her daughter, to read to her at night, to tell her she loved her whenever she wanted, sent a sickening lurch through her stomach.

  And what if her condition worsened while she was away? What if Carrie didn’t know her when she returned?

  “I think I need some air,” she managed to say.

  “Sure. Through the door and down the right hall is a balcony,” Carson said, standing up as she left the table. Tinsel remained where he was, drawing his phone from his pocket as she passed.

  The spring Florida heat was a stifling wall as she stepped outside, and another wave of weakness passed over her. The continually shifting climate was all the more apparent here in the South, the peak-heat points of certain days making it unsafe to even venture outside.

  She made it to the railing and gripped it, steadying herself. It wasn’t only the thought of leaving Carrie that had done this to her. She’d just witnessed a man vanishing from one place and appearing in another. The breakthrough was unprecedented, something that came along perhaps every thousand years or so. The applications to everyday life were staggering.

  Behind her the door opened, and a moment later Carson matched her pose at the railing. He didn’t look at her but instead followed her view to the vehicle-assembly building.

  “Did I ever tell you I always dreamed of going to space?” he asked.

  “I knew that was your end goal, yeah.”

  “But I mean since I was a kid. My dad took me to an astronomy club when I was five. My mother had bought him a cheap telescope along with dues to the club for a year for his birthday, even though he’d only mentioned in passing he thought stargazing was interesting.” Carson smiled. “Anyway, he didn’t take to it, but for me it was over the second I put my eye to the telescope.” He glanced up as though he could see through the ocean of blue sky above them to the stars waiting beyond. “Something so much bigger than me, but I was a part of it. I knew I had to go out there someday.”

  “And now you have.”

  “Twice. And the promise of going again is as exciting as it was the first time.” He brought his gaze back to her. “Come with me. Help us. Please.”

  “Carson, Ander’s breakthrough is incredible, and I’m really pleased for you and everyone involved, but—”

  “Tour the lab with me. One of the original two transports Ander built is still on campus. Come on, where’s the fearless woman who faced down Dr. Childs in Biology 1 when he tried mansplaining to her?”

  She smiled. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Even so, I don’t think the good doctor ever forgot it. I know I didn’t.”

  Gillian sighed. “Look, I really appreciate you flying us down here and for the opportunity, but I can’t leave my daughter.” Her throat began to draw shut. “She’s getting worse. She might have four years, maybe less, and I can’t justify the time away from her. Those days are . . .” Her voice failed her, and she had to look away. “I would never get them back.”

  Ca
rson was quiet for a time before placing a hand over hers. The contact was unexpected and, though she tried to ignore it, stirring. “There’s another aspect of all this you haven’t considered, and it concerns Carrie.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The application to medicine. What Ander’s transport does is map the body, right? Every atom of every cell. Every single cell, Gillian.”

  She stared at him, unsure if he meant what she thought he did. “So the damaged neurons, the tangles—”

  Carson squeezed her hand. “If you help us determine what’s wrong with the system, there’s a possibility the neurons damaged by Losian’s could be deleted while shifting. You could save her.”

  NASA-transcribed audio files in reference to Mission Discovery VI disaster.

  Required personal entries for Dr. Gillian Josephine Ryan, age thirty-seven, neurological consultant. Inaudible or unknown words are labeled as such.

  File #179081. May 27, 2028.

  [Static and quiet breathing for ten seconds.]

  I still feel really strange doing this.

  I’ve recorded audio logs before, but they’ve all been for notations on research. So it’s weird just talking to myself, but Carson said it’s a must for everyone who’s riding that glorified missile into space. Sorry, Carson, or whoever is listening to this. I’m told the audio files will only be reviewed if I die. So if I’m dead, it’s all your fault, Carson.

  Recording yourself is supposed to help you cope with feelings and focus on your objective—what you’ve learned so far. For the record, there are numerous studies that writing is more cognitively linked to focus and memory than speaking, but what do I know? Neurology is not psychology.

  So what are my objectives? If I’m being honest, I decided I was going by the time I left the first meeting with Carson and Tinsel, but I didn’t let it sink in until I got back to my sister’s house. Carrie was out on the beach playing in the sand. She was making little concentric rings around where she was sitting, like the ripples when a rock is dropped in a pool. In that instant I knew I had to go. Sacrificing six months with her is going to be like losing a limb, but if I don’t and I can’t find funding, then . . . [Inaudible.] I need to stop that. I’m going to figure out what’s wrong with the crew. It’s the only way I can help Carrie.

  For a second when Carson was talking about what Ander’s machines actually do, I thought I had a simple solution: If every atom and cell was mapped during teleportation, why couldn’t we write a program to scan the data from those who are being affected to see if there are any neurological tangles present in their brains? Apparently too simple. Carson said none of the data is recorded after re-atomization, given the enormous amount of storage it would require. And now that shifting could actually be causing the problems, they don’t want to risk sending anyone else through the machines.

  That’s why they need me up there so desperately. I’m closer than anyone to pinpointing which neurons are affected in a living brain. Close to a breakthrough—I can feel it—but I need more time. And as much as I hate it, the time will have to be spent away from Carrie.

  So I accepted their offer on the contingency that if there’s an emergency here, I’ll be able to come home immediately on the shuttle. Carson agreed. So if something happens, I can be back within twenty-four hours. It’s a small comfort, but it’s there just in case. And it’ll help that I’ll be able to talk to Carrie every day through NASA’s uplinks. Won’t be the same as being here, of course, but . . .

  [Long pause.]

  I’ve been going over the files of the station’s crew who’ve been affected. Whatever’s happening to them is eerily similar to Losian’s. Mostly the complaints are fairly mild, but two cases are extreme. Severe memory loss, irrational outbursts of anger, extended trancelike states. I’ve compared these two with all the others and can’t find any significant differences in their work habits, diet, or other available information. It’s . . . strange. If it is Losian’s, this is the first case of group onset, which doesn’t fit the disease’s MO. It’s not infectious, it’s a genetic anomaly caused by a pollutant or inherited. So unless the crew’s been exposed to a high concentration of the same pollutant, Losian’s doesn’t truly fit. And there’s something else that’s been bothering me: the names of the two extreme cases have been redacted. Not sure what the reasoning behind that is. I’ll have to ask Carson.

  So there it is. We leave in four days. The last couple weeks of training have been tough. I’m on a crash course in being an astronaut, even though Frank, my instructor, has reassured me I won’t have to fly the shuttle. He said they have simpletons like Carson to do that. I like Frank. I’ve spent hours underwater in my space suit and did zero-gravity training today on an airplane. Still sick. Could only drink some water for din—

  [Sound of a door opening. Man’s voice—inaudible.]

  [Gillian—inaudible.]

  [Door closes.]

  So thankful that Birk’s coming with me. I don’t know what I’d do without a research assistant. Besides that, I’ll have someone I completely trust with me. Carson and Tinsel did not like the idea of adding Birk to the mission—I mean it really pissed Tinsel off, which was a bonus—but I’m glad it’s all settled now. I had to weather an angry call from Justin as payment, though. Never heard Birk’s fiancé that pissed before, but I assured him I’d bring his sweetie back to him in one piece. I told him he should be thankful Birk’s so huge, all he has to do if he misses him is go outside at night and look up. Justin didn’t think it was as funny as I did.

  Then again, I might not be laughing for too long either. A questionnaire I filled out asked if I was on any medications, so I was honest. Carson cleared the meds along with the titanium plate still in my leg, even though I’m guessing both of those things would typically be a real deal breaker for the mission. I’m beginning to wonder how much pull Carson actually has. It’s nice he’s going to bat for me, but also a little unsettling. I’m almost expecting to get a call any minute saying I’m not cleared for the mission. In any case, Carson is . . . he’s come a long way since college.

  Anyway, I made a promise to myself—I’m getting off the hydro after I get back. I packed enough for six months, and it was a chore getting that many, believe me. I’m going to try easing off them during the mission to reduce withdrawals when I come home. By the time I come back to Earth, I’ll be coming back to Earth. Haha, that was an addiction joke. I have to do it, though. It’s something I’ve meant to do for years now, and I know I can because I’ve done it before. But addiction is the ultimate procrastinator. It’s always “we’ll get clean tomorrow, today you need it” or “this weekend’s going to be tough, shoot for next week.” This is a real chance for me to help Carrie, and I can’t screw it up. I need to be coherent. Concentration and will.

  [Long pause.]

  I guess that’s it. We’re going to space.

  So strange to say that. And as daunting as it all is, for the first time in years, I’m rejuvenated. Maybe even hopeful about the potential outcome. This could be the best thing that ever happened to us.

  Oh, and we’ve been studying Ander’s early lab trial videos and notes. When he first moved on to living organisms, he used rodents and . . . [Gagging.] I can’t go into it now, not with the vertigo. I’ll be sick.

  [End of recording.]

  File #179082. May 29, 2028.

  Two days.

  Counting down. Always counting in my head. Everything’s become the second hand on the clock. Three more breakfasts with Carrie. Two more bedtime stories. One more afternoon at the beach.

  [Long sigh.]

  It’s . . . beyond hard. Carrie asked today if I was going away forever like Daddy. Because, she said, that’s where he was, right? Up in the stars somewhere? And wouldn’t I stay there if I saw him?

  [Inaudible. Recording pauses. Resumes.]

  I told her that nothing would keep me from coming back and I’d be there above her all the time like her own personal star, l
ooking down. I don’t know if she believed me. I know I didn’t always believe my dad when he would leave on a business trip. He’d say he’d come home safe and to trust in Jesus in the meantime. But kids get scared. Then you grow up, and you’re still scared.

  [Clears throat.]

  Anyway. Yeah, Birk and I have been watching Ander’s trial videos. I have to hand it to the man, he’s absolutely brilliant. Even with my rudimentary understanding of quantum mechanics, this guy blows me away. He’s either brave or foolish since he used himself as the first human trial. He went ahead with it when he had no idea if it would work on a person. I mean, this is beyond typical science, this is . . . Frankenstein stuff. It’ll be very interesting to meet him when we get to the station; he’s been up there for over a year along with his son, Orrin, who from what I’ve read is some kind of military hero. Guess success runs in the family . . .

  On another note, I’ve finally found Birk’s weakness. Not to mix body-part analogies, but as unbelievably strong and smart as he is, his inner ear is his Achilles’ heel. He did a second run in the plane with zero gravity, and now I know why they call it the vomit comet. I heard him about twenty minutes ago throwing up in the bathroom again, and his flight was six hours ago. I’m worried he won’t do well in space and offered to let him go home. He wouldn’t even let me finish the sentence. I love the guy. Just hope he doesn’t hurt himself on my account.

  [Long silence.]

  Frank said something strange today. He was talking about long-term space travel and the effects on the human body. Then he said something about how stasis will be key to reduce those effects. I asked him what he meant, and he got this strange look on his face and said, “I mean, in theory, if you had to travel farther, it would be useful.” Then he changed the subject.